


Another Hit

by dentigerous



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Sparring, just a lil slap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentigerous/pseuds/dentigerous
Summary: Illya teaches Gaby some sparring techniques.





	Another Hit

It was in that moment, when she pressed against his ribs with her thighs, that Illya knew he was a weak man. He smiled slightly, more like a curl of his mouth, and nodded.

“Better.”

“Better? I just tossed you like a sack of potatoes,” Gaby crowed, smirking. She had her hands on the large man’s shoulders, absolutely pleased with the new judo throw she had been perfecting. The room was slightly dark, and was leaking rainwater in one of the corners. Solo had left to try to find ‘some vestige of civilization, or at the very least a good whiskey’.

“A helpful sack of potatoes.”

“I’m going to make vodka out of you,” she murmured, smiling a little as she leaned down over him. She was teasing him. Her legs were firmly against his sides, but she was sitting just beneath his sternum, her hips far away from his. 

“You are a dangerous woman,” Illya said softly, shifting a little to get his elbows up under him, sitting up slightly. Gaby didn’t move, but tilted her head to the side, small whisps of flyaway hair falling over her face. She didn’t break eye contact with Illya and he gestured, frowning a little. “Let me up.”

“What if I wanted you to stay down?”

Illya considered her expression before lying back down on the ground. He put his hands on her legs, just against the sides of her knees. The small movement pleased her, and she smiled wider. 

“You would do anything I say then?” She asked, digging her short mechanic’s nails into his shoulders, just short of cruel.

Illya didn’t respond and she squeezed his sides tighter, frowning. It was not the response she was looking for.

“Not anything.” Illya said, raising his eyebrows. “But it’s easy enough to play along.” He tapped her knee and made the move to sit up again when he found himself pushed back down to the floor. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, pinning him down. 

He frowned up at her, tired with the game. “Enough,” he said quietly, tapping her knee again. “We have more throws to practice.”

“Waverly warned me about this.” She wanted to raise his hackles, looking smugly down at him. He stilled and she shrugged, sitting back, hands on her hips. The mere mention of her handler and the team’s director was enough to make Illya’s jaw clench.

“Attachments are a weakness.” Gaby explained quietly, eyebrows up. She was challenging him.

He pursed his mouth and let out his breath slowly. “Now you talk like a Russian.”

The slap surprised him, and his hands tightened on her knees for a second before he lifted them up. Gaby was staring down at him, entirely furious.

“Never call me a Russian.”

“I wouldn’t,” Illya murmured, jaw set, “you hit like a German.”

Gaby tensed, and she knew that Illya could see her thinking through hitting him a second time. German wasn’t incorrect, but she wasn’t entirely German. She made a noise in the back of her throat before she stood up and offered Illya her hand.

“Then teach me to hit like you.”

Illya smiled a little as he stood up. He put his hand on her shoulder before taking a step back and settling his weight into a defensive stance in the center of the cleared living room.


End file.
